Droplets of Blood
by Kalida
Summary: Rudy. Rudy Cooper. She loves him and he loves her too.But from somewhere between frenzied but meaningful sex and air guitar lessons and making casts and fucking proposals she reach to the trunk of her car. She is bound and she is dead. And then she is not. Her brother is here. Rated T. Dex/Deb
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Hi, I'm new to Dexter fandom and this is my first Dexter fanfic, so go easy on me... I found that there weren't many Dex/Deb fics out there, so I thought it is a pity to waste such a good chemistry between these two characters. So, these are my Dex/Deb drabbles. Maybe a multi-chapter... Maybe not.

Other than Dex/Deb, I am also like Dex/Rita and Dex/Lumen. So, I *may* write drabbles on them too (in another fic).

Anybody who has read my other 'Bones' fics, I assure you I will complete them. I am writing Dexter fics to overcome my HUGE writer's block and to get my funk back into writing Bones fics. So, hopefully, *fingers crossed* I'd be able to complete my Bones fics.

Others, please read and enjoy this Dexter fic and it would really help me if you could leave a review. A short one would do.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Dexter.

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><p>.<p>

"_That's my foul-mouthed foster sister, Debra. She has a big heart but won't let anyone see it. She's the only person in the world who loves me. I think that's nice. I don't have feelings about anything, but if I could have feelings at all, I'd have them for Deb."_

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><p>.<p>

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He tries. He tries to be normal. Or at least seem normal. He knows he never succeeds…

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><p>.<p>

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Despite the lack of _feeling _(strongly, at least) for anybody or anything or even any event, if Dexter could feel anything, it would be a sense of failure… Which is – _strange_. Strange because he had succeeded at least till now.

No one had figured out his night-time hobbies. Yet. Not even those who have known him longest. Not even Deb. Yet… Yet, he feels he's losing more than succeeding. And it doesn't make sense.

Dexter does not feel. Definitely not irrational feelings.

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><p>.<p>

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He may not have feelings but he understands them – well, to a certain extent. He has read many psychology texts just so that he can simulate natural human emotions and reactions. Like any 'project' he takes on. Even in his life he is a very planned, methodical and detail-oriented guy.

Sometimes, just sometimes, he wishes he wasn't so.

Because maybe if he wasn't, he wouldn't have known and then maybe, just maybe it wouldn't have to be this way…

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><p>.<p>

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He would say it is due to psychology and not empathy that he can understand his sister, Debra. Or maybe she was just obvious.

But, he knows… He _knows_ that beneath the tough exterior lies a person who continually wants to prove herself. Like somehow that would help her know who she is.

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><p>.<p>

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_"My sister puts up a front so the world won't see how vulnerable she is; me, I put up a front so the world won't see how vulnerable I'm not."_

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When they were young, Harry spent most of his time with him (coaching him, teaching him, on how to do his night-time activities) and neglecting his biological daughter unless necessary. Of course, she wouldn't know that it wasn't _favouritism_. She wouldn't know that it was actually to protect her. She wouldn't know that it was to help Dex try and survive in a world alien to him. She wouldn't know…

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><p>.<p>

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And so, all her life, she would try to prove herself worthy. Worthy of her father. Worthy of her father's time and affection. Worthy of a transfer to homicide. Worthy to be a detective. And all her life, she wouldn't be satisfied. Because she'll never know _when_ she would make her dead father proud. Because she'll never feel that utterly confident… That… That is _her_ failure…

Unable to correct her, even when he wants to, is _his_ failure…

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><p>.<p>

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"_Cell crystallisation."_

"_A little louder..."_

_._

_._

This is the first time he feels successful and useful and helpful to her. He wasn't exactly normal… Not someone you could ask for help (unless your help required somebody kill someone and dismember them). But yet, she had asked and he had helped. In some way he could try to. One of his infamous 'hunches'.

He feels helpful when he tells her about the ice-truck. It would be a good clue. And he feels a little bit of pride as he asks her to speak a little louder. He was coaching her… and guiding her! Was this what Harry felt as he helped him? Mentored him?

But he wasn't actually all brotherly and stuff… Was he even capable of feeling pride?

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><p>.<p>

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"_Jesus Dex! Are you boning her?"_

"_No, I-"_

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He feels a little discomfort. He had honestly expected this. As oblivious and inexperienced as he was in inter-personal relationships, even _he_ knew that Lieutenant LaGuerta and Deb weren't the bestest of buddies. So, he had expected her to shot Deb down. Yet… Yet, he feels a slight discomfort… The slightest bit. Years later, he would wonder whether that was a protective streak? Was he capable of being a good brother?

As of now, he just feels like an ass as Deb storms out of the room. Okay, maybe not. But still, he had lost that slightest feeling of accomplishment that he felt instead of the sense of failure just for the second he thought he had actually helped.

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><p>.<p>

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"_It just seems odd. Your sister has this ice-truck theory and you back it up."_

"_She's good, lieutenant, you should give her a chance."_

"_You should call me Maria."_

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><p>.<p>

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He may not be good at feelings but he knows that the hands on the forearm, the dazed gaze and the easy laugh are signs of flirting. Heavy flirting. He smiles and puts up with it. And even cracks a joke or two of his own. It has been his defence mechanism since forever. Nobody suspects the charming young guy. It has been ingrained into him. Harry made sure of that. It was a matter of survival.

But he wasn't interested in sex or romantic relationships. Not really. So, he was never really going to say yes to LaGuerta. Not even to pretend to have a normal life. But he thinks that, suppose he had been a normal guy and suppose he had been interested in sexual relations, he wouldn't have ever dated LaGuerta. Not now anyway. Something about the way she never takes Deb seriously irritates him… in the most infinitesimally small way. But no matter how faint or slight it is, it does… irritate him.

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><p>.<p>

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"_Is it okay if I fill out the report tomorrow?"_

"_Sure thing. You are tired."_

"_Good night Lieutenant. I'll catch you tomorrow."_

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><p><em>.<em>

_._

He doesn't call her Maria, on purpose. He calls her 'Lieutenant' and for a fraction of a second, her easy smile crumbles, but then she recovers. He thinks that it was a logical choice to not lead her own as he really didn't want anything to do with her. Not to mention that she was his boss. He thinks that and is satisfied. But just on the days he is on edge, on the days where he hasn't killed anyone for weeks, on the days he feels he is more than just a very effective serial killer… On those days, he wonders whether it was him being protective…

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><p>.<p>

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Dexter does not have feelings. But if he could have feelings for anything at all, he'd have them for Deb. Maybe... Maybe he already does.

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><p><strong>AN: **Review, please...


	2. Secrets Beneath The Surface

**A/N: **Okay so this is not a drabble. More like a Oneshot. Or a drabbley-oneshot. So this is officially a compilation of oneshots.(I will work on my Bones fanfics soon enough).

Another one of those 'What id Deb finds out?' story. Though maybe a little bit different. I mean, come on, Deb is a smart cop. From the first season onwards there have been hundreds of hints as to what Dexter really is... How come Deb never found out? Or even suspected?

Anyways, I am unsure if this story should be M rating (for Deb's mouth). Though the profanities had been kept to a minimum in this fic (keeping in mind that this is Deb-centric). So, this one is Deb's POV. A little exploration into the idea that maybe she knows more than she shows.

**Warning: **Deb's Mouth. Rating can be a possible M. Bad language, mentions of violence.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Dexter. No copyright infringement intended.

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_"There are no secrets in life: just hidden truths that lie beneath the surface."_

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><p>She doesn't figure it out right away. Despite the cop in her, she doesn't figure it out for a long time. She's still not sure that she has figured it out…<p>

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><p>.<p>

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The damn dog keeps on barking and barking and Deb is this close to going out to their neighbor's house and strangling it with her bare hands. Her mother is very sick and all she wants is a bit of good night's sleep and the damn dog just won't shut up.

Later, her mother being sick wouldn't be so eventful for her, but right now, Deb is still very young and though she is young, her instincts are telling her something is wrong.

Her Dad is taking care of her Mom and she just wants to watch a few moments of TV and Dexter is looming in the room and staring out the window with _something_ scary in his eyes and the damn dog won't shut up!

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She doesn't know what but Dex is humming something and she just snaps, "Will you shut up?"

She is feeling uneasy and queasy and Mom isn't here to make it all go away…

"Okay." He says, and promptly keeps quiet.

She is still very young and naïve but even she knows that it is not an appropriate response for boys his age. Boys his age are supposed to be nagging and irritating and Dex is just quiet and… accommodating. And though she doesn't analyze this till years later, the young girl still knows that it is not 'normal'. And the abnormality of the whole night is… stifling her…

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Deb snaps.

"I don't know what you mean." Comes a quiet reply.

Somehow it pisses her off more and she snorts through her nose, "You're such a freak!"

She is switching off the TV and the moonlight is filtering through the windows and Dad is nowhere to be seen and Mom's coughs can be heard throughout the house and she is stomping up the stairs to her bedroom and the stupid dog won't stop barking and Dex's eyes are scary and she feels uneasy and…

"I don't know what you want me to do." Dex replies from the foot of the stairs.

She turns around and is about to give him a piece of her mind when the barking of the dog gets louder. "God! I wish somebody would just kill the damn dog!" She exclaims in agitation. She is about to tell Dex how much of a 'weirdo' he is when she catches him looking out of the window to the neighbor's yard with a sort of longing in his face… Yearning, even. And it scares her very much, so instead she just walks back into her bedroom and snuggles into her favourite blanket. She is a big girl now and she knows that there are no monsters under the bed or in the closet, yet she feels afraid…

Because the night is heavy and oppressing and the moon is full and there is something in Dexter's eyes…

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She falls asleep after sometime. She doesn't notice how the barking has ceased or how the night had fallen silent.

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><p>.<p>

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It is strange but sometimes she has these weird dreams. The only person she would trust blindly in this world is Dex, yet the dreams continue to haunt her subconscious.

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She is lying on a cold hard metallic table and she can feel her skin sticking to the damp metal of the table. Something is binding her… Her chest, arms, hips and legs bound to the table by some unknown material. Something smooth and crinkly… And she is naked but she can't move or cover herself up… And Rudy is standing on her left side, stroking her hair lovingly and he leans close and tells her that he loves her over and over again, with his breath smelling minty and his fingers tracing a blazing trail… His fingers searing into her skin, leaving marks (_fingerprints!_).

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_A partial-fucking-print!_

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And he tells her he loves her over and over again… But instead of reassuring, it feels ominous and she feels cold and clammy and she tries to move but she CAN'T… Something is binding her and she is thrashing on the cold metal table, sweat pouring off her body and sticking to her skin…

And suddenly she realizes there is one more presence in the room… And to her right stands Dexter!

And she is about to tell him to save her and that Rudy is the motherfucking ice-truck killer but her voice gets stuck in her throat and she can't utter a word.

And Dex is looking at her with kind eyes but his eyes are shining with something evil and she wants to warn him against the ice-truck killer when she sees something in his hands shine. It is a big shiny knife and suddenly the room feels colder.

Dexter looks at her and raises his hand and points the knife right above her heart and she is wants to scream 'Dex, what the fuck are you doing?' but she can't get the words out and Dex is looking at her with a strange kind of yearning…

.

And he says softly, regretfully, "No… Not Deb. I'm too fond of her."

And then he plunges the knife into her heart…

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She wakes up in her bed in fucking sweats and it has been years since the ice-truck killer but she still has these dreams… And it is senseless and manic and she just needs something to drink which will knock her out flat till the next morning, but she always feels uneasy after the dream… Hell, a lot more than uneasy, she feels downright scared… Because the look in Dex's eyes in her dream was the same one he bore on the night the dog went missing…

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><p>.<p>

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The Bay Harbor Butcher Case is emotionally exhausting… Something about the fucking psycho ruffles her feathers. She feels everything is wrong.

While Dex is off fucking the little Ms. Pardon-my-tits, she is becoming increasingly aware of her growing attraction/admiration/crush/respect/feeling towards Special Agent Lundy and she is very happy to continue in denial because that is one heavy truckload of shit that she is not ready to deal with yet…

But most importantly something about this case is unsettling her and she really doesn't know what. It is not scary (not yet) and she has already seen much more disturbing shit, so it isn't really _repulsion_ that she feels towards this case… She feels connected… As if she is also a missing piece in this puzzle…

So, she listens to Mozart and tries to learn something from the Zen-like wisdom of Lundy and she understands… In a weird morbid way, she understands that the Bay Harbor Butcher, or the Dark Defender, or whatever the hell else the motherfucking psycho is called, was righting wrongs… In an even more wrongful way. But he was killing off criminals…

And for a split second, it reminds her of her dad, Harry.

She shakes her head to clear it and tries to find some _real_ leads in the case.

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It was Doakes.

Deb was never really fond of Doakes because of his animosity towards Dex and the other Lab rats, but he was an agreeable bastard. She always felt that Doakes was a good guy. A slightly egotistical, rude, arrogant person maybe but still a good guy…

All evidence points to the fact. She knows that. She _knows_ that. But…

Well, firstly, Doakes didn't really have a boat or yacht with which he could easily dispose of the body. He didn't possess the technical know-how to chop up all those bodies. And… and…

All evidence points to the fact that Doakes was the Bay Harbor Butcher… Yet…

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Anyway, she doesn't have time to ponder over a closed case. The crazy psycho vampiric arsonist bitch is still at large, and she would fucking well make sure that the pale creep is caught.

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"_It doesn't matter what I do… Or what I choose… I am what is wrong… I'm b-broken."_

"_No…It's me. I am."_

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><p>Lundy died.<p>

And she couldn't do a fucking thing. She could only watch…

Lundy died…

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><p>.<p>

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_I am what is wrong…_

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><p>It feels finally good to solve the Trinity killer case. It feels good to rip the sheep's clothing off another wolf. They haven't caught him yet. But, they know who he is. And they will…<p>

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"_It doesn't matter what I do... Or what I choose… I am what is wrong. Harry was right. This is fate…"_

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"_It was me."_

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><p>She gets it. She really does. But sometimes her brother can be a fucking 'tard. What the hell was he thinking? Saying, "It was me." She gets the whole guilt thing. She really does… When Lundy died, the only thing that kept her from plunging into a world of revenge and insanity was her brother… He held her tightly and grounded her. Making sure that she didn't drift into the sea of anger and revenge. And also made sure that she didn't sink into the never ending pit of depression. She knows how it feels… She knows how it feels to think that you were the harbinger of misfortune. She knows how it feels to think that you bring nothing but pain to all those who love you and whom you love. She knows the weight of irrational guilt gripping every inch and every fiber of your body. Till you believe it to the core that you were the cause…<p>

So, she gets the "It was me" thing. She really does. Hell, she had gone through it. So she understood it. But that doesn't mean others do. They would take it in the wrong sense. They would start doubting. Bloody fuckers. What do they know about losing the one you love to murder? Right before your very own eyes.

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"_Dad once told me that some people didn't deserve __to be alive__.__"_

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><p>She knows that she had done the world a favor by taking out assholes like the Fuentes Brothers… She knows that it was a logical and accurate decision to put a bullet through his fucking head… A real cop's decision.<p>

What she didn't expect was the _lack_ of guilt. In all the books and TV shows, all the good cops feel remorse even after killing the most evil psychopathic guy… She doesn't.

She doesn't feel even a twinge of guilt. Not even the slightest bit… In fact, she feels glad that she has taken out the fucker. If given a chance to do it all again, she would do it again exactly the same way. She relished pulling the trigger and knowing that the bastard was gonna die… She doesn't feel guilt. And she wonders… Does that make her a bad cop? Does that make her a bad person?

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><p>"<em>Harry once told me that some people deserve to die."<em>

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><p>.<p>

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It feels good that Dex doesn't think it's too cruel of her to not feel remorse. It feels good to have Dexter's approval. It feels good to know that she would have had Dad's approval. And though Dexter has never killed anyone, she feels understood as Dex talks. She wonders why…

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><p>.<p>

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She wanted to fucking kill Quinn. She wanted to cut his throat and make him choke on his own blood… What the fuck did he think he was doing? How could he sleep with her and spread shit about her brother behind her back? Who the bloody fuck did he think he is?

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Later when they have sorted this all out and they are busting their asses on the Barrel Girls' Case, she would allow her mind to wander…

Trinity killed young single girls on the bath tub not older married women. And when he did kill the women, he staged it as a suicide and he always chose his victims so that the women had two children – a girl and a boy, not three. The victimology and M.O seemed all messed up in this case…

She doesn't even consider for a second what Quinn suggested. She doesn't doubt for the tiniest of seconds that Dex had anything to do with this. Dex adored his wife and was in very much in love with her. He would never ever hurt her or any innocent person…

Which leaves only one option : there was a specific reason as to why Trinity changed his M.O in the last kill… Maybe… maybe, somebody provoked him…

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><p>.<p>

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The Barrel Girls' case is turning out to be a very tiring one… She feels emotionally exhausted. She hasn't felt this way since the Butcher case. Honestly, she doesn't really want to catch Number 13 and her accomplice. What she actually wants to do is to put a bullet right through the heads of all the cocksuckers who did such shit to the girls… Twelve girls dead. Number 13 on the prowl.

Frankly, if she could grab two fucking pom-poms and cheer for the Vigilante killers, she would. But she is a cop and she has got a job to do. And for the first time in her life, she really wants to quit a case.

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><p>.<p>

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It is during the Barrel Girls' Case that she starts putting two and two together. It is then that she is looking back on her life and starting to read those big blaring Neon signs exposing the secret of their life…

It starts with the 'tenant'.

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She knows about grief and moving on. And she is really not in a position to judge. If it is working who is she to poop on his parade? She says the same to Dex and he becomes uncomfortable. That is when she starts suspecting…

The way Dex is completely unsettled may just be him adjusting to the single life once again after Rita passed away.

But it is the 'tenant' that tingles her instincts. The scar on the 'tenants' back was partially hidden by her clothing, but the edge of the deep scar poked out from underneath her top and Deb's eye immediately caught it.

Lumen. That is her name. The name of the tenant…

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The mysterious way only the CD #13 got damaged only intensifies her doubt. She is already running the idea of vigilante killers on her head and though right now everybody is laughing at her, she _knows_ that she is right.

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Though she feels queasy and uncomfortable throughout the case, it isn't till she stands in front of the Vigilante Killers separated by a thick sheet of polythene that she understands the full implication of her doubts and hunches…

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><p>.<p>

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"_Don't move. I said don't fucking move."_

"_But it isn't my decision to make. I am going to call this in. This place will be swarming with cops in an hour. If I were you I would be gone by then."_

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><p>.<p>

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She doesn't know why but the fuzzy figure of the two people standing on the other side of the dirty polythene sheet looks vaguely familiar. The woman's figure isn't familiar, but the guy's (_the husband, boyfriend, brother, whatever…_) figure, his built, structure, his body language everything feels intensely familiar.

She doesn't know what to do. Number 13, the miracle, is standing on the other side and she doesn't think she has it in her to call this in… She can practically smell the fear coming off them and her mind flashes back to the videos she has seen. Those horrendous films were agonizing for her to watch, she can't imagine how anyone could endure, let alone survive it. Twelve women, tortured, brutally raped and killed. One… Just one of them escapes… And hunts down the bloody motherfuckers… If that isn't justice… If that isn't fate, she doesn't know what is. How the hell was she going to turn them over if she wanted a good night's sleep ever again? _Fucking A_.

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><p>She is still saying something (she is really just saying anything that comes into her mind) and there is suddenly a movement on the other side of the plastic sheet…<p>

A slight flutter of the foggy plastic sheet…

A clang of a bullet whizzing through air…

She yells, "I said fucking don't move!"

And the guy flinches… And she recognizes him…

_Dexter…_ She almost calls out his name. But she doesn't. Suddenly everything makes sense… The 'tenant'... Her scars… The tampered evidence… Atonement for Rita… _Love_…

And she breathes out. Her body trembles… "If I were you, I'd be gone by then." She yells out and walks backwards… Walks away… It takes all of her will power to not pull back the dirty polythene sheet and find out for sure who is behind that…

For the first time in her life, she feels that she is as good a cop as her Dad…

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><p>.<p>

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She doesn't know for sure, but she is feels that it was Dexter behind that polythene sheet…

She doesn't know for sure, but she has an inkling that her father knew…

Her doubts are confirmed when she doesn't see the 'tenant/girlfriend' in Harrison's birthday party. Lumen left after killing each one of the fuckers who did this to her. Deb will never have proof. She will never have evidence, but she knows that her brother was one of the Vigilante Killer.

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><p>.<p>

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"_You don't like Quinn much."_

"_I don't like Quinn at all… But, I want you to be happy, Deb."_

"_I'm happy." _She pauses for a second. She doesn't really know whether she should say it. Or whether she shouldn't. She decides that it can be an open secret. "_You must be too…" _She looks at him pointedly. _"Now, that this is all over, I mean…"_

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><p>.<p>

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She wonders what happened to the dog… She doesn't really want to wonder about Rudy (Brian) and him… She wonders whether her father knew… She wonders how he met Lumen… She wonders what happened to Lumen… She wonders whether he has done it before…

She wonders whether she should tell him that she knows… She wonders whether she is afraid to tell him… She wonders what she'll tell him…

She wonders about secrets…

Secrets that are not really secrets… Just facts… Just truth lying in the open for the whole world to see… You just have to look at it the right way… Secrets which are so obvious, so radiant that they are like big bright neon lights… Secrets hidden in plain sight…

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_"There are no secrets in life: just hidden truths that lie beneath the surface."_

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><p><strong>Review...<strong>


	3. Okay

**A/N: **I've heard some spoilers for season 6 (it hasn't launched here yet) and I'm ecstatic. *Hooray!*

I felt the Dex/Deb vibe from season 1 itself and my sisters just thought that I was weird. Well, now I can say – "Hah! I told you so."

I'm so glad that the writers of the show didn't chicken out and just ignored the chemistry between their lead two characters. So _so_ glad…

Okay, rant over.

I've thought about continuing chapter 1 of this fic (random drabbles for different episodes of the show) or even maybe a short sequel to chapter 2 (a fic in which Deb's realizations impact her relationship with her brother). But I was too tempted to write an imaginary history between teenage Dex and Deb. And well, I was never too good at resisting temptations anyway.

That being said, to tell you the truth, this is a sucky chapter. The idea was good but really really bad writing. But I was having a writer's block and I needed to post something before I rusted and withered to pieces. So the end result is this.

Anyways, Hope you enjoy the fic.

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><p><strong>Warning: <strong>This is a Dex/Deb fic and hence it has incestuous undertones. And well, in this particular chapter, there is no undertone, it is simply stated. So, if you are bothered or offended by this, please read some other fic. (And also try to be more broad-minded).

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>I do not own Dexter. No copyright infringement intended.

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><p>.<p>

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_More than what happened, it is what **didn't** happen that lets you know the truth..._

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><p>It isn't dark. Not yet. The sun is yet to set. Harry isn't home. He isn't gonna be home for a while. There is no reason to go looking for Deb right then. Not really.<p>

But Dexter doesn't really want her to get in trouble. Because if she does get in trouble, she would be inexplicably mad at him. She seems to be the only one who can get a rise out of him. And he can only curb his homicidal tendencies for so many times.

He doesn't want to kill Deb. No. Not yet. Not Deb. He's too… _fond_ of her. Besides Harry would disapprove.

So, he goes looking for Deb – to warn her that Harry would be home soon.

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><p>He finds her sitting in the back yard, staring at the slowly darkening sky. Her hair is unruly, eyes puffy and she looks like a slob. She's sipping from what appears to be a bottle of… Scotch? Isn't eating ice-cream the expected protocol ?<p>

_Where did she get that?_ He doesn't ask. If he did, he may have to tell Harry. She's underage. She shouldn't be drinking.

Suddenly, she senses his presence and whips her head to look at him. And hides the scotch behind her back. It's futile, really. He's already seen it.

Her voice has a slightly tipsy and slightly panicky tone to it as she asks, "Dad is home?"

He sighs, "No."

"Oh."

She casually turns her head around and sips the scotch again leisurely. Her eyes are half-lidded and after each long sip she smacks her lips together and then licks it. As if she's savoring the taste. But the frown on her face tells him otherwise.

He's surprised. Dear Darling Debra isn't normally so bold. She does her sins in private. Afraid of the Disapproving Dexter and Harry. Though she doesn't mind giving him a piece of her mind, she is also demure. Besides, she knows that he is a tattle-tale.

As if reading his mind, she asks extending the bottle towards him, "You want some?"

He knows this is a tactic. If he also partakes in the 'crime', lesser are the chances that he'll blabber about it.

It doesn't offend him though. It is actually quite pleasing to learn that Deb is starting to learn the wicked ways of the world. Was he even feeling a little bit of pride?

He's interrupted from his monologue by Deb's irritated voice, "Well, do ya?"

Maybe it's because a normal teen couldn't resist the offer and he needs to pretend to be normal, maybe it's because he would also like a drink, or maybe… Just maybe it's because he senses that something is wrong with Deb and wants to find out what it is that he says, "Yeah".

And he takes the bottle and sits beside her.

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><p>.<p>

.

The sky is becoming darker and Deb is staring at it as if it holds the answers to all of life's questions. He is staring at the bottle in his hand and wondering about hygiene and trying to decide whether he should put his mouth where Deb's has been a moment ago. He isn't really too keen to exchange saliva.

He looks at her again and he notices that she's staring at the grass right now. He can't really see her face. Her thick brown hair is hiding her face. He thinks he hears a sniffle. Was she crying? What was he supposed to do if she was crying? What is the appropriate social response for it?

He takes a sip of the scotch and nearly coughs and splutters. _Damn!_ He can feel the hot burning liquid searing through his throat when he hears her mumble something.

He chokes out, "What?"

"I said I had sex."

.

Oh.

Oh. _Oh… _How was he supposed to react to that? Act like Harry? Become indignant and demand to know with whom she was? Or be like Mom? Lecture her about safe sex?

He mumbles, "Okay". Just to clear the stifling awkward air around him, he takes another sip of the scotch.

She's still looking at the grass and he still can't see her face when she continues, "I… I lost my virginity. And it's not that. I mean… It was a few months ago. It's just… I- We broke up. And that's fucking okay too. I was going to dump him anyway. I… I just – He didn't even like me, you know. I… I was just so stupid… _so stupid._"

This is even more awkward. So he settles for another "Okay".

Suddenly she looks up at him and her eyes are full of anger and pain and disgust and fury.

She doesn't yell. She whispers instead and somehow that makes more of an impact. "You're such an asshole."

She stands and snatches the bottle from his hands and takes a long gulp.

And then abruptly she sputtering and coughing and half-puking and so he holds her hair away from her face. "Fuck!" she yells.

She's just mad right now and somehow he being there and being silent and holding her hair away from her face just aggravates her. She slaps his hands away and pointing directly between his eyes, she hisses at him, "Fuck you. FUCK_.YOU._"

He doesn't retort. Maybe because right now he sees how vulnerable she is and he knows that she's more pained than she's mad.

She takes another gulp of the scotch and somehow the bitter burning liquid soothes her a little. She sits back down and returns to looking at the dark grey sky. He pretends that he doesn't see the occasional tear tripping down her cheek. And she is grateful for that…

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

"It's all fucked up, isn't it?" she asks. And it takes him a while to respond because they've been sitting in silence for a while and he isn't sure that he actually heard her.

But, then he responds, "Yeah, it is."

She licks her lips and it tastes faintly of alcohol and bile.

"It's silly. We've all been told the world is rosy and love is frigging great but nobody tells you how much of a mess it really is."

"World or Love?" he asks.

"Both."

He doesn't know much about either and so he just nods. He reaches for the bottle and takes a sip. A few minutes ago he was worried about hygiene. It is funny how he isn't really bothered by that now.

The stars are slowly peeking out. A gentle night breeze flows by. The air has a musty scent to it.

Tranquility.

He could always appreciate tranquility.

She lets out a self-depreciating snort. "I was such a dork!"

He chuckles, "Was? You _are_ a dork. But… But, not stupid."

She shrugs, "Yeah, right."

And suddenly he feels inadequate. He feels responsible for her lack of self-confidence. He took Harry away from her. He made her feel unwanted. And even just for a moment, he wants her to understand just how _good_ and… _pure_ she is.

His voice is solemn as he says, "You're not stupid, Deb. You – you believe in the idea of love or goodness and… and that is something I never could do. I-I envy you for that."

And then she's looking at him. She's not just looking at him, but _looking_ at him. Into him… And for a moment he feels naked. He feels terrified because he's wondering whether he had dropped a hint that he's a psychopath. Whether a creeping doubt has invaded her mind…

But she doesn't act terrified. She doesn't act suspicious. She just smiles and rests her head on his shoulders. He doesn't really know whether this is normal but if he couldn't get her ice-cream the least he could do would be to offer his shoulders, right?

"You're still an asshole." She murmurs.

"Okay."

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

A few minutes have passed by and the sky is dark and the night is getting cold. He can only feel the warmth of Deb's body pressed to his side. It feels that she is dozing off. "Deb, Get up. Harry would be home any minute. Get up!"

She's half-awake and she's looking at him. She's still drowsy and looks dazed and he realizes why he can't kill her. She's too much like a child. He likes children. He could never kill a child.

"Get up" He says and pushes her off his body.

"I'm up!" She declares, "Stop fucking pushing me." _Maybe not too much like a child._

_.  
><em>

It is getting colder and everything is quiet and still. Moonlight will start filtering in soon through clouds of smog and dust.

.

Tranquility is lost. And he can't help but wonder whether he is okay with it too.

.

Her hair is plastered onto the sides of her cheeks and so he brushes it off. It is an unconscious movement. He didn't put any thought to it.

But then suddenly she's leaning into his hand...

.

* * *

><p>The air grows heavier. Stuffy.<p>

She leans into him and their faces are just millimeters apart. He could easily ask her what the hell she was doing. Or maybe he could just get up and walk away.

But he stays.

There is something in her semi-closed eyes that makes him stay rooted to the spot.

He doesn't know whether he moved or she did. But one of them surely did.

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

Their lips meet.

Her lips feel dry and chapped and slightly _slick_ with cheap alcohol.

Slow and tentative at first but slowly turning more passionate. His eyes must have been closed otherwise he'd have realized what he was doing and stopped it.

.

She tasted like cheap scotch and bile.

.

She tasted like Damnation.

He could suddenly taste blood. The metallic flavor assaulted his taste-buds and just like that he feels _electrified_. Did she just bite his lips? Maybe Dear Darling Debra isn't as demure as he thought. He threads his hands through her unruly hair.

But then she suddenly withdraws. She licks her lips and tastes blood. She looks confused and bewildered and she looks at his face searching for something. Whatever it was she must _not_ have found it, because the next second she stands up and run her fingers down her face.

"I-…" She starts to say something but then decides against it. She just walks away.

He stands there feeling awkward and piqued. _Interesting turn of events. _

And then she turns around and says those three little words…

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

"It didn't happen."

Such a vague statement. He doesn't really understand what happened. Or what didn't happen. He just… He feels confused and conflicted. He felt the irrational urge to point out the truth – _But it did happen_.

Instead he just nods and says, "Okay."

He licks his lips.

He licks his lips and tastes his own blood and damnation.

"Okay."

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

True to their word, the incident didn't happen.

He found a place to dispose of the bottle (it wasn't too hard… much easier than disposing the corpse of your neighbors' pets) and she cleaned herself up and when Harry came home everything was as it was.

.

Everything was right with the world.

.

The world is round and _not_ flat and brothers and sisters _did not_ kiss.

But she still wonders (_just sometimes_) why they have beer and take-outs and steaks but never ever do they have scotch…

.

.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Liked it? Hated it? Lemme know through a review... ~_^


	4. Harry's Devil

**A/N: **Thank you to all who reviewed. ^_^

Hope you liked this chapter.

Reviews make the next update faster. ;)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Dexter. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

.

_My sister still lives her life trying to please our father. Me, I'm following the lead of an 8-year-old kid. I'm moving on._

.

.

* * *

><p>In a perfect world, Harry would <em>never<em> have ignored his own daughter to favour his foster son… to teach him new 'skills'.

In a perfect world, Debra would never have felt the need to become a cop and prove herself to her father.

In a perfect world she would've never had a relationship with Rudy, Lundy, Anton or Quinn.

In a perfect world, her fiancé would never have tried to chop her into pieces.

In a perfect world, she wouldn't be a victim to constant self-doubt.

In a perfect world, she wouldn't have felt that she was the fuck up of the family.

In a perfect world, she wouldn't have always looked up to Dexter; she wouldn't have felt the constant need to get validation from him.

In a perfect world, she wouldn't be in love with her brother…

But, we don't live in a perfect world…

.

.

* * *

><p>Sometimes he thinks that they are a pair. Like a pair of those salt and pepper shakers. Black and White. Salt and Pepper… Different individual things… Yet, a part of the pair.<p>

Maybe they are just _different versions of each other_.

.

.

One who accepted his vices but believes that he could never change them.

Other who couldn't accept even her virtues and is in a never-ending quest to find acceptance.

.

.

* * *

><p>Harry thought he created a monster from his deeds… He took his own life unable to deal with what he had done.<p>

He was wrong.

He created two.

.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

Sometimes, she looks at her brother and wonders whether she'll ever reach there.

He is happily married and with three kids. He has a job he loves and is generally liked by all. He's got a house in the suburbs and a minivan and he looks like the fucking poster boy of the American Dream.

Whereas she… She is the American Psycho.

She is the one Harry never wanted. She is the one who is a continuous fuck up. She is the one who is more foul-mouthed than a drunken sailor. She is the one who was screwing the serial-killer she was investigating. She is the one who said 'yes' to marriage with a guy who wanted to chop her up into nice bloodless pieces. She was the one who fell in love with an FBI Agent twice her age and got him killed. She was the one who cheated on her boyfriend. She is the one fucking her co-worker.

She's everything that he is not… She is everything that Dexter is not.

.

.

* * *

><p>But sometimes, she wonders whether she even wants what Dexter has.<p>

She wonders whether she wants to be married to a stable guy; whether she wants the white picket fence and house in the suburbs and the 2.0 kids and…

The truth is she doesn't.

Maybe something is wired in wrong with her head, but the picture of 'happily-ever-after' that is most people's dream just makes her nauseous.

She doesn't want any of that. She doesn't want to be the little missus. She doesn't want to be Dexter. Yet… Yet she is so jealous of him. Of what he had… Of what he has… Of what he is…

She doesn't know what she wants.

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

She is floating through life like a log in the river. Never really lodged anywhere. She just goes and goes and goes and goes… She is afraid that one day she'll wake up and her life would be behind her and she would be regretting the fact that she never really _did_ anything.

She doesn't fall in love too often or too rare. She doesn't dream of commitment.

She… She doesn't want to be Dexter.

But, then again, she doesn't know what she wants.

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

Sometimes she looks at her brother and she sees a man who is happy.

A man who had to go to couples counseling, a man whose wife died, a man who is so secretive, who is alone… Yet, he is happy. No, not happy… But content. A man who has accepted what life has given him, a man who accepted his flaws. A man who is always there for her… Guiding her along.

A man who is _content_.

The idea is so confounding to her that she nearly can't believe that this is _her_ brother. She – the fuck up – the one who hurts and brings pain to everyone she loves – has a brother who is so… pure, and content with where he is in life.

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

_Jesus, Dex! What are you doing? I'm the fuck up of the family. Not you!_

.

.

* * *

><p>And she wants that. She wants to be content. She is always struggling… always. Every moment of her life is a struggle, a fight – to put evil men behind bars, to catch another killer, to forget the fact that the first man she loved tried to kill her, to forget the fact that Lundy died because of her, to put a bullet through another motherfucker's head, to be a little bit more like her brother, to be a little bit more like her father, to make her father proud again and again and again…<p>

Her life is so much a struggle that she is fucking _exhausted_.

She wants to be content with whatever she has… with whatever she is.

She wants to be the anchor for someone. She wants to be there for someone.

She wants to be enough for her father.

She wants to be _Dexter_.

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

They are both Harry's Aftermath.

Two Frankenstein's monsters.

She wants to be enough for her Dad. She wants to be Dexter…

But she isn't.

She's the naughty little girl while he is the good little boy. Always was... Always will be...

**She is Harry's Devil.**

.

.


	5. It's Nothing

**Title: **It's Nothing

**Rating: T**

**Pairing:** Teenage Dex/Deb

**Characters: **Dexter, Debra and Harry

* * *

><p><strong>Warning:<strong> Incestuous undertones. If you are not comfortable, please don't read.

Not a song fic.

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I do not own Dexter. Nor the song "Delicate" by Damien Rice. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Hi. ^_^

This story is actually a scene from the second chapter (which is still under work) of another one of my Dex/Deb fanfics named – "**Fingerprints in the Dark**." It is a three-shot and I have posted only first chapter. The second chapter would be posted soon.

You will understand this better if you read the other fic, though it is not really necessary.

The only background info you need to know is that both Dex and Deb are teenagers in this fic. The question remains – Is Deb the only one with feelings for her sibling?

Anyways, hope you enjoy it.

If you have free time, please leave a review. It means a lot to me and I'll be sure to send a little good will along your way.

If you have lots of free time and you enjoyed this fic, I hope you take time to read my other fic too.

Get reading.

.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

IT'S NOTHING

.

* * *

><p>"<em>We might kiss when we are alone<em>  
><em>When nobody's watching<em>  
><em>We might take it home<em>  
><em>We might make out when nobody's there<em>  
><em>It's not that we're scared<em>  
><em>It's just that it's delicate"<em>

_._

_- "Delicate" by Damien Rice_

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

.

.

He sees her sleeping on the couch sideways, facing the television. The diffused light from the television is playing across the features of her skin and engulfing her face in a gossamer veil of spectral glow. There are cartoon characters chasing each other on the bridge of her nose and the arch of her cheekbones.

He _sees_ her and stops in the middle of the room, lost. He had come into the living room wanting to get something or do something but for the life of him, he can't figure it out.

He is standing transfixed, watching Debra sleep open mouthed and snoring slightly, and he is turned to another piece of furniture in the room. No purpose and no movement, just another inconsequential background detail.

"_I love you, asshole. And you love me too."_

Her voice comes unbidden into his mind, like some plastic wrapper drifting into the frame due to unruly winds.

He moves to stand in front of the couch all the while his eyes are trained on the outlines of anthropomorphic animals running around her face. His shadow blocks the light and her face is plunged into darkness. It is appropriate, he thinks, after all any light in her life is bound to be obliterated by him.

He kneels down, partly in reverence at a vision so delicate yet beautiful, partly so that he is nearly eye-level with her. His hand move out of its own accord and palms her cheek, his thumb tracing the hardness of her high cheekbone. She must have felt his cold fingers because her forehead wrinkles. But she doesn't wake.

This is weird; he doesn't feel the urge to strangle her. He doesn't want to dig his nails so deep into her skin so that it draws blood. He doesn't want to take a knife and shred her just to see the torpid flow of blood as it drips from the couch and soaks the carpet.

He wants to preserve this moment, take a photograph. But not just the vision. The feel of her warm live self under his hands, the bleary sounds of the television playing the background in a low volume combined with the sharp ticks of each second passing by and wheezy whisper of each breath he lets out. He wants to preserve all this.

.

He looks at her again and thinks _This is Debra_. The thought should be a deterrent to whatever he is about to do or feels, but it isn't. He keeps thinking _This is Debra. This is my sister. This is Deb. This is Harry_'_s daughter. This is Debra. Debra. Deb. Deb. Deb..._ But this thought just seems to reassure him. It just reaffirms whatever it is that he is feeling.

This is Debra. Deb. Harry's daughter. The only person in the world who loves him. He thinks that's nice.

He blinks, his pupils widening, eyes straining to see her face better in the dark shadows cast by him. His hand still on her cheek. His thumb still tracing her cheekbone.

Her lips are dry.

"Dexter."

The stern voice ricochets in the room, louder than the bleary squeaky sounds from the television yet quiet enough to not wake Deb. His name is both a reproach and a question. The stern voice belonging to Harry.

Harry.

Dexter turns his head around to notice Harry standing at the doorway staring at the sight in front of him. Dex lets his hand fall and stands up, turning around to face Harry fully. He was never good at reading human emotions, but looking at Harry's face then he knew that it lacked _any_ expression. Harry just stared at him as if he were a stone statue, his expressions frozen yet grotesque somehow, like that of a gargoyle. His gaze harsh and pitiless as the sun.

He stares right into Harry's eyes, all sense of self-preservation or fear evacuating his body, escaping like sands slipping through his hands. He should be afraid now, another mask removed, another facet of the monster is in plain view. But he isn't afraid. No. Oddly, he feels liberated. The adrenaline is shooting through his veins and he feels dangerous and volatile. His face is a mirror reflection of Harry's face, frozen and stern, as he asks in a steady and unaffected voice, "Yes, Harry?"

He had meant to ask _Yes, Dad?_ but it came out _Yes, Harry?_.

Harry was his Dad.

He had meant to ask _Yes, Dad? _but it came out wrong.

It came out wrong, so very wrong.

Something about the about the sparse room, the cold furniture, the gossamer patterns of light playing across Deb's face had made it come out wrong.

There is a flicker across Harry's face. Something dark and thin like disbelief clouding his eyes. Harry sets his jaws and answers. "Nothing. It's nothing."

Dexter is amazed, Harry _almost_ seemed afraid of him. Harry was never afraid of him. Not during their 'hunting trips', not during their sparring sessions, not when he tried his chokehold on Harry and definitely not when there was manic gleam in his eyes whose meaning Harry knew very well. Harry was never afraid of him. Never.

Yet now, he seemed like he was.

Dexter watches as Harry turns around and goes back without so much as a backward glance, his hands running through his hair and his shoulder tense beyond belief.

.

Debra opens her eyes blearily to a stout shadow which partially protects her eyes from the blaring brightness of television screen. She blinks once or twice as the cloud over her brain clears and she recognises the shadow.

It's Dexter. Standing and staring at an empty hallway, his mouth set in a grim line.

Her lips are dry. She licks her lips and asks, "Dex?"

His head turns around and his eyes fall on her face which is partially obscured by his shadow. He answers gruffly, "You fell asleep on the couch. It's late. You, er, you should go to bed."

Deb must have felt a covert tension suffocating the room. She asks, again, "Dex? What _is_ it?"

Her brother's shoulder falls. His voice is crisp as he repeats his father's lines.

"Nothing. It's nothing."

Then, he adds as an afterthought, "Go to bed." He briskly walks out the room and goes to his own.

Confused, she stares at her brother's retreating shadow._ What the fuck?_

She gets up from the couch, switches off the blasted TV and gets ready for bed.

_His shadows flow like silk,_ she thinks as her fingers rub her cheek, absently.

.

.

.

* * *

><p>Review?<p> 


	6. And There are Skeletons in The Closet

**And there are Skeletons in the Closet and Monsters under the Bed...**

* * *

><p><p>

There is this feeling of wanting to claw off her skin. Not just her skin, her flesh too, so that all her veins are on display and she can check (_and they can check_) whether it is blood itself that is flowing through it or whether it is something vile and thick like bile.

She honestly cannot remember when things got so fucked up. 

. 

When she was young, she dreamed of Prince Charming. And Happily-ever-afters. Of course, she must have noticed that there is something wrong with her right from the beginning. Because, her Prince Charming didn't kill her monsters for her, her Prince Charming didn't win wars for her. Her Prince Charming waited while she fought the wars and slaughtered the monsters. He was her rock, her army commander, her companion, but _never_ her champion. And after she had slain all the monsters, both of them rode off to 'Happily-ever-after'.

While she was young she dreamed of Prince Charming, she doesn't anymore. 

. 

She didn't think anything was wrong with her for a long time. Then, when she was still a girly kid and all her friends talk about how they hated their brothers, about how they were annoying and disgusting, she realised that she doesn't. She doesn't hate her brother. She loves him. 

. 

At fifteen, she falls in love for the first time. But she believes that she had fallen in love many times before. She hadn't.

This is the first time. And she _loves_ him. Her Dad and her brother barely notice her existence; but here is a guy who cherishes her existence each day as if it is a miracle. He looks at her with eyes full of adoration, eyes so happy to have found her and she shivers. She looks in the mirror most days, trying to find out what hidden beauty he sees in her. She stares and stares. (_Mirror, mirror, on the wall..._)

Her Dad or brother doesn't notice her spending more time in front of the mirror or her smile becoming a lot easier.

She watches the night sky with him and they create new constellations with simply tracing the blinky stars. He creates and she christens them. One that looks like a lamb, a spider, a butterfly, a mouse, a leaf, a heart...

She looks at his clear blue eyes and thinks of how they just created a universe of stars within just minutes and she swears (_she swears_) that she'll love him forever and they'll end up together and they'll have their happily ever after.

He clasps her hand in his and smiles and she thinks _happily ever after is already here_. 

. 

At seventeen, she already lost her love and she is a little bit wiser and a little bit smarter.

She has a new boyfriend, someone she does not love and someone who doesn't love her. But somehow it started making sense. More sense than all that Disney shit anyway.

He doesn't look at her with adoration and she doesn't look at him with love. The words they exchange are clichéd and rusted, their faint metallic flavour leaving a bitter aftertaste in her mouth.

She doesn't birth the stars anymore. She rarely looks at the sky anymore. She had learned that the sky doesn't hold answers. Not for her. (_Not for anyone_). 

. 

Her Dad dies. She is sad and crushed and every inch of her skin is seeping with sorrow. Yet there is a tiny part of her soul, a very tiny one, _which she hide and hide in a desperate hope that no one will ever find it_, which is relieved. It feels as though something is over. An era is over.

She stares at the coffin. Her Dad died. There are tears running down her face endlessly. She believe it is out of the sorrow (_it can't be due to the relief, it can't be_).

Her brother is standing beside her with his poker face and she wish to paint a set of tears on his cheeks. There is a part of her heart that hates him to the core – this man who stole her father away and replaced him with an exhausted inattentive zombie, this man who stole her life away – but there is a bigger part of her heart that loves him quite inexplicably.

He clasps her hands in consolation, a gesture she knows that is unknown for him, and for a split second she thinks of stars and constellations, she does not know why. 

. 

She falls in love again. This time, it is not with a boy but with a man. He doesn't draw patterns in the sky. He doesn't speak of dreams or give promises. His eyes are weary with a set of wrinkles that comes with life... that comes with experiences (_and age_).

He gives her life lessons. He teaches her without teaching anything. He is married and with a kid.

He never knows of how she feels. 

. 

She has a good time. After all, life is about having a good time. She is young and beautiful and smart yet nearly invisible. In a long shadow cast by her father and her brother, she is struggling to be seen.

She keeps staring at the mirror every morning. There is no hidden beauty, no whispered promises. But, it's alright. She has stopped looking for it years ago. 

. 

She keeps talking to her brother. He is always there. The omnipresent force that invades every aspect of her life. She calls on him for advice, for companionship. He always comes. He is the definition of reliability. She is grateful. And as much as she wants to tamp it down, there is a voice that speaks inside her head that resents him for it. _Dexter the Reliable._

She hopes that just for once, he doesn't show up or says no. Just so that she knows that he knows that not showing up is also an option. Just so that she knows that he comes because he wants to. It should be a choice, not a compulsion. 

. 

She falls in love once again. It is stupid and she is too grown up for this shit. But he makes her forget all that; he makes her feel like he is a Prince Charming. He is passionate and kind like her first love and wise and worldly like her second.

And she doesn't know what to feel. It is dreamy yet real and she can't help but dare to hope... dare to hope that maybe this will last and this will be real.

In the darkness he croons her name as he moves in her and she cries. She burst into tears. Tears that she _never_ shed for her first or second love, tears she shed for her Mom and Dad. Because she don't know what to _feel_ and she can't help but think that this maybe _real_...

How many people can say that? How many people can say that they had something real in their life? Not many.

And she feels that maybe she is one of the privileged few.

He tells her it's alright.

He takes a cast of her leg and she feels beautiful, she feels Godly, she feels sinful... And she grins.

Rudy. Rudy Cooper. She loves him and he loves her too.

But from somewhere between frenzied but meaningful sex and air guitar lessons and making casts and fucking proposals she reach to the trunk of her car.

She is bound and she is dead.

And then she is not. Her brother is here. 

. 

She tries not to think about it. She tries not to think of how much a fool she was. How she frantically believed something to be _real_ when it had been so (_so_) fake.

She tries not to think about how she loved him. (_She think she still do, but sshh... It's a secret!_) And she wishes, she keeps on wishing, that there was some switch that she could flick so that she could switch off her love. So that she could undo everything.

And she keeps thinking – those hands... Those hands that held her, caressed her, fucked her, those hands that put a motherfucking ring on her finger, those hands were soaked with blood. With blood and tears and agony...

And she can see little packages of bloodless pieces on her arms, her hips, her lips, her face, everywhere he touched her. She stands in her brother's shower and she scrubs and she scrubs till her skin peels off, but she can still see them. She is steeped in their blood. It is on her, it is with her, it is inside her, it is in her.

She thinks of those brown eyes and shaggy brown hair and the perfect smile (_and his glee while killing_) and the perfect kiss and the perfect fuck and she think of how she kissed his hands... How she kissed his hands soaked with whore's blood and she pukes.

It was not her. It was not her that loved him.

But some demon that possessed her. _It was not her_. 

. 

Her brother is always there. This embodiment of all good things. Harry's perfect child. She looks at Rita, Astor and Cody and they are perfection. Her brother showing love and kindness to a woman who had only known pain all her life.

Rita is who her brother loves. Rita is who her brother deserves. The fragile perfect Rita. Her brother loves damsels in distress. Her brother loves princesses.

She love Rudy. She love monsters.

Her brother loves damsels-in-distress, he must be Prince Charming.

She love monsters, she _is_ one.

* * *

><p>.<em><strong>Review please? ^_^<strong>_


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